Everything's Changed 2007 - Blockage - CSI
Oh, writing myself into a wall. Fuck me. Not so much a wall as a big block, but we'll see. I apparently not only need a beta for SG1, but for CSI as well.
He stood in the doorway to her bedroom, watching her as she slept. It was the first time since the night before he had sent her away to live in Florida, under a new name with a new family, that he had found himself doing that. Anastasia Grissom and Tara Davidson were both mysteries to him, even though they were the same girl. But there were some things that never changed, he realized.
She still looked the same way when she slept, despite the addition of ten years to her face and body. Her long hair was down and fanned out on the pillow behind her. She had rolled over onto her side and tucked her knees in towards her chest, clutching onto a giant white fluffy stuffed rabbit that she had once dragged everywhere with her when she was a kid. Her nose still wrinkled in her sleep, and whenever the slightest change came to her enviroment, she let out a little impatient moan, burrowing deeper into her pillow than before.
He couldn't believe that the sleeping, peaceful girl in front of him was the same wildcat he had pulled into the hallway earlier that day. She had been crying and screaming and clawing hysterically at her father's hand to let her go, but as soon as the doors were closed, as soon as the man in the orange jumpsuit was away from her field of vision, she just collapsed. She had started to crumple at his feet before he used his free hand to grab ahold of her around the waist. She had moaned deep in her throat and turned in his arms, pressing her face into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. For a moment, Grissom had froze, unsure of what to do with the shaking teenager in his arms. His shaking teenager. But he had quickly snapped into action, taking the arm around her waist and placing it around her back, his hand resting between her shoulderblades, while the other hand lightly stroked the hair that was quickly escaping from its bun. She had seemed to cry harder at his movements, at his attempt to comfort her, but he never stopped until she pulled away.
He had left her tears soaking into his shirt and against his bare skin, cold and wet, as she shuddered against him, shaking her head from side to side. He had bent his head towards her ear and said the first thing that came into his mind. "It's all right, Ana. It's okay. He's gone and you're fine. It's all right, Ana." It was almost like a rhythmic chant that he repeated for a good five minutes. At one point, he had sworn that he heard her whisper something about a monster, but he hadn't been sure. Slowly, ever so slowly, she had begun to calm down, for her sobs to turn into whimpers and sniffles. Her hands, which had balled themselves into the back of his shirt, wrinkling the material to all hell, began to loosen slightly. She had began to loosen her tight hold on him, but at the same time, when he had started to let her go, she burrowed closer against his chest, trying to press her ear against him to hear his heartbeat, just like she used to do when she was a child. And he had brushed the hair away from her damp face, beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable as his daughter turned to him for comfort and he found himself confused as how to give it to her.
She had finally apologized to him in a soft whisper, apologized for breaking down like that and making a fool of herself, and he had told her that it had been all right, and that she should go wash her face since their flight back to Las Vegas left in three hours. She had simply nodded and pulled herself away from him, thanking him, and headed for the bathroom.
She hadn't met his eyes since then.
Instead, they had gotten home and she had quickly gone upstairs to take a shower. The next time he saw her, she was down in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of oversized baggy sweatpants and a short, skintight tank top, pouring herself a glass of water in the kitchen. She had a headache, she told him, before adding that she was sure she was dehydrated from her "ridiculous crying fit". Anastasia had gulped down the glass of water and poured a second one, using it to wash down the two aspirin in her hand, before adding that she was going upstairs to take a nap and not to bother waking her when it was time for dinner, she would get something to eat later that night. After he had eaten and taken his own shower, getting ready to go to work, he had seen the evidence of her quick snack, and when he looked in her room, he saw the almost empty plate that had once held cheese, crackers, and carrot sticks judging by the mess in the kitchen, and the empty glass of milk. By then, she had already crawled back into bed and was asleep again.
For a moment, he debated whether or not to walk into her room, afraid of waking her up, and knowing at the same time that it was a ridiculous reason for not going in there, since he knew from experience that she was a deep sleeper, unable to wake up unless she was forcibly shaken or her alarm clock had gone off. With only the dim light of the hallway partially illuminating her room, he walked in and removed the plate from her vanity, putting the last carrot stick in his mouth, before walking closer to the bed. He put the plate down for a moment and moved slowly, ever so slowly, to pick up the open book that lay beside his daughter, reaching onto the bedside table for a bookmark and then laying it beside her lamp and her water glass. Grissom crouched down on his heels and for one moment, reached out a hand as if to brush an offending piece of hair out of her face, before it stopped in midair, unable to make the whole movement. It wavered for a second, trembled briefly, and then returned to his side.
He stayed there for a moment, watching her breathe lightly, watching the eyes behind the closed lids move rapidly with her dream, before he tried again. This time, his hand managed to touch her soft hair and brush it behind her ear. She let out the same soft, impatient moan at being touched, but then turned her head towards the contact, cradling her head against his hand for a moment, her lips curving into a smile. He fought back one of his own for a moment and then removed his hand, standing up. The smile on her lips turned into a frown for a moment. Without thinking about what he was doing, her father leaned down and gently and softly kissed her on the top of her head. She sighed at the contact and turned to her other side when he moved away. "Under the bed, Daddy," she mumbled in her sleep.
Grissom fought against the chuckle that wanted to force its way out, before straightening and picking up her plate again, taking the empty glass of milk in his hand. As he moved away from her, out of her room, closing the door behind him, he couldn't help but wonder why it was so much easier to show her that he loved her, to show her any affection whatsoever, when she was asleep rather than awake. But then he knew that her dark blue eyes weren't about to turn cold and impersonal whenever he moved towards her, and she wasn't going to snort sarcastically and toss her head away in defiance.
It was only in her sleep that he could give her the kiss that a father would normally give his daughter. And unfortunately, he didn't see that changing any time soon.
Anastasia never awoke when he was in the room. She was too firmly involved with her own dreams. Her dreams, which were acting like a home movie through her head, taking her through different moments of her childhood, both good and bad. It was also the only way that she knew her mother's face. She hated it and she loved it at the same time, for it gave her something to hold onto, some idea of her mother, of what she was like. But she also knew that when she did finally wake up and fight her way out of the dream, she would be left with that same disappointed, depressed feeling as she always was. She was too young to know her mother only in her dreams.
An impatient huff sounded from her and she ground her head deeper into her pillow as it started again, as the memories flipped through her head as rapidly as if she were looking through an actual photo album.
The warmth that had lulled her to sleep shifted slightly, and her eyes opened, almost accusingly, showing only two very small dark blue glittering slits. "No," she mumbled around the thumb that was tucked firmly between her teeth. "Want more," she grumbled, sleepily. She vibrated as the warmth chuckled softly. Almost possessively, she moved closer to it as it tried to move away from her.
Gil raised his eyes and met the equally amused eyes of his wife sitting in the rocking chair near them. It was a familiar routine, one that happened at least once a week. She smiled at him and continued her gentle rocking, a new blanket spread across her lap as she continued to add new stitches to it. "Come on, princess. You know how to use complete sentences. You're four, after all."
The eyes opened briefly again. "Four and a half," she informed him, removing the thumb long enough to yawn loudly, her nose crinkling, before the thumb was put back into place and she snuggled up against him again. "More story, please."
"Hmm. Please isn't going to cut it this time. Bed time." He removed his arm from beside her and watched as she tried to burrow into his side. A smile touched his lips as he wrapped his arms around the little girl, lifting her up to snuggle into his arms. She did so immediately with a pleased look on her face, having gotten what she wanted, not losing contact with her father. She laid her head against his shoulder as he carried her towards her mother and dipped low enough for little Anastasia to crane her neck and purse her lips. Tara smoothed her hair with one hand and kissed the little girl before Gil took her away, up the stairs and down the hall to her own room.
The nightlight in the corner had already been turned on and the bed had already been turned down, as it was after dinner every night, in anticipation of her falling asleep on the couch while her father read to her. He laid her down on the bubblegum pink sheets, and pulled up the matching pink and white striped comforter so she could thrust her feet under it. He laid it over her, tucking it around her shoulders, although he knew that when she awoke in the morning, there was a good chance that most of the blankets and sheets would be on the floor, as well as a pillow or two. She was just as active in her sleep as she was during the day.
Immediately, she raised her arms up in the air towards him. "Hugs," she said impatiently, smiling when he bent down low enough for her to wrap her arms around his neck and feel his kiss on the side of her head. He released her and sat down on the edge of her bed, brushing her light blonde hair out of her face with a single finger. "Y'ready?" she asked, turning her head on the pillow towards him.
He nodded gravely. "I'm ready." Another nighttime tradition that had to take place before she could sleep. Every night that Gil tucked her into bed, rather than her mother, he sat there and listened to her news of the day, whatever it was. Usually, she made up a story for him, but every now and then, she described something that had happened during the day. As a four and a half year old little girl, the true stories usually related to making cookies or losing a particular doll or telling him in detail how she had gotten her latest bruises. It was also how he had, inadvertantly, found out what his birthday present was that year. This night, he was luckier.
"Missus Lady-Bug came back to visit today. She said-" Anastasia broke off to yawn again. "She said that she had something very very important to tell me. And she said that I should tell you and that you should tell Mommy."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why couldn't you tell Mommy?"
"Not s'pposed to. I'm s'possed to tell you, and you're s'possed to tell Mommy."
"Supposed," he told her gently, sounding out each syllable for her.
She shook her head and gave him an impatient look. "That's what I said. S'possed."
Gil hid a smile from her and cleared his throat, bending down closer to her and lowering his voice so it was like they were sharing a secret. He knew how much she loved her little secret sharing with her parents. "Okay, then what am I s'possed to tell Mommy?"
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at how he pronounced the word, almost as if she knew he was playing with her for his own amusement. For a moment, he was taken aback at how bright his daughter could be, but it certainly wasn't the first time and he was sure that it wouldn't be the last time that it happened. "Y'know those really really good chocolate cookies that Mommy and I make? The ones with the snow on top?" He nodded again, not bothering to explain to her once again that it was icing sugar on the top, not snow, but he supposed that little girls should be allowed one or two fantasies. "Missus Lady-Bug said that she really wants some, but if I tell Mommy, then she'll think that I want them. But if you tell her, then she'll think that you want them, and then she'll make some with me, and Missus Lady-Bug can have some, too!"
Forget pronounciation, he thought to himself. Her next lesson was going to be run-on sentences.
The sun was just beginning to rise and filter into the room as Anastasia flipped over abruptly in bed, with so much force that she knocked one of the spare pillows into the night table. It sat there for a moment before sliding down onto the floor. She sighed unhappily and threw one arm out to cover the other side of the bed, turning her face away from the window, wishing to hell that she could wake up and leave the dream, but she also knew that it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
"Mommy?" Anastasia asked quietly, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her head cocked to one side. Tara turned her head towards the five year old and drank in her appearance for a moment. She was, as per the overly warm California weather, dressed in a pair of little jean shorts that had grass stains on the front and along the seat and a grubby looking blue tee shirt that was getting too small for her. Little streaks of dirt covered her deeply tanned legs and arms, her blonde silky ponytail was a complete mess, and the blue jelly sandals on her feet looked as if they had seen better days.
Tara smiled briefly, allowing herself to wonder what her little girl was going to look like when she got older, on a big important day of her life. For a moment, she had a brief flash of a tall, slender girl with that same blonde silk hair, though better maintained and flowing over her shoulders, that same deep tanned skin, wearing a formal dress as she got ready to leave for her prom. And then she sighed, shaking her head to clear the image. It was far too soon to think about how her husband would react when Anastasia would tell them that no one ever came home the same night as their senior prom. She knew that if Gil had his way, she would remain a perfectly behaved little virginal princess until she was forty. "Yes, honey?"
The little girl was known in school and throughout the neighborhood as being a cheerful, bubbly little girl, who was always ready with a smile and a wave for anyone. She bounced, rather than walked or ran, or she skipped down the sidewalk with her hair bouncing behind her. But now, she had an uncharacteristically serious look on her face, almost a frown, and for the briefest of moments, Tara felt...scared. That wasn't her little girl, her father's little princess. She looked decidedly adult in her stance and manner, so much like a miniture female version of Gil. "What's wrong, Mommy?" she asked. Tara shook her head, unable to say anything. She could only look at the little girl who wasn't her little girl. She watched as Anastasia's dark blue eyes swept the kitchen, almost as if she were intentionally setting out to look at the empty dog dish, before looking in the corner of the kitchen where the sun came in the big bay window, the same patch he always curled up in at that time of day.
And in only moment, she turned back into a little girl. Her face crumpled, and one little hand turned into a little fist, grinding at her eyes. "C'mere," Tara said softly, opening her arms. Anastasia was too big to curl up in her mother's lap like she used to, but she crawled into it just the same, laying her head against her breast as she started to cry. "I know, baby. It's hard to lose a friend like that. And Pepper was such a good friend, wasn't he?"
"Where is he?" she wailed. "I want my Pepper!"
Tara closed her eyes and bent her head towards her daughter's. It was true, the grey and black mutt had adopted Anastasia the moment they put the newborn down on the floor to introduce the two. Pepper had been the "practice" baby that the doctor had suggested, but he turned more into a babysitter. She had sat on the floor beside the newborn, her hands and arms ready to pick her up the moment the mutt growled, and Gil had been behind the dog, the much faster of the two, waiting to haul the dog away should something happen. But they had both watched in amusement as the dog had carefully put its snout forward and sniffed the baby cautiously, before sticking out its pink tongue and swiping at the bottom of Anastasia's foot. She had gurgled and blinked at the dog, as it curled up beside her and put its head on her stomach. The two had been inseperable. Tara knew, for example, that when she was out late with friends or visiting the neighbors, Gil was more than willing to let the dog into Anastasia's room to curl up with her until her key unlocked the front door. And she would never forget the time that Anastasia, as a toddler, had gotten too close to a baby pool that they had left in the back yard. Pepper had grabbed her diaper in his teeth and pulled as hard as he could, his little legs scrambling frantically until he pulled her down, causing her to give out a loud wail and alert Tara to what had happened.
She waited until the little girl calmed down before she straightened up and brought Anastasia's head away from her, brushing the hair off of her damp face. "I know that it hurts, Ana, but things like this happen from time to time." The little girl started to shake her head, and Tara nodded to counter her. "Yes, they do. Do you remember when we went to go see Gamma during the summer?"
Anastasia nodded seriously, looking like her father again. Tara fought the urge to wrap her arms around the little girl and let out all the tears she was hiding, that she knew she wouldn't be rid of until she was in bed, curled up beside her husband, and she wouldn't have to worry about the little girl hearing them. "Uh huh. Gamma and I made a cake," she said softly, looking down at her shorts and picking at them with dirty fingers.
"What kind of cake was it again?"
Anastasia smiled briefly. "It was a spice cake. Daddy's favorite. With cream cheese icing. Gamma told me that she used to make it for Daddy whenever he had a birthday, right until he went away to school. And then, when he would come home, she would make one for him."
"Mmm. That's right. And Daddy really liked your cake, too. And I thought it was really nice that Gamma waited for you to come out and see her before she made one, so that she could teach you how. That way, you and I can make one for him whenever we like."
Her head shook enough to make her ponytail swing from side to side. "Nope. Only on his birthday. Gamma made me promise."
She reached for a napkin off the table and held it for Anastasia to blow her nose, twisting it one handed with a practiced gesture and putting it back on the table. "What else do you remember from going to Gamma's?"
"She makes really good gravy. And Gamma can't hear, so her and Daddy taught me the secret language. Gamma showed me how to spell my name with my hands." And with that, she lifted them and her little hands clumsily finger-spelled her name. She finished and brightened up. "And I learned a lot more, too. She gave me twenty dollars when we left."
That threw her for a loop. Tara paused, before smiling wryly. "She did, did she?" she asked, shaking her head. "But do you remember how every Sunday morning, we had to get up early and get dressed up all pretty and go to church? Even though you and I know that your Daddy didn't want to, but we didn't tell Gamma, did we?" Anastasia shook her head, giggling at the idea of keeping such a secret. "And do you remember that conversation that you and Gamma had after the first time?"
"She told me that there were pretty people called angels, and they had big wings like a bird, and they could fly! She said that they lived with God, up in the clouds, and they helped Him do His work. He sent them down here to help people, especially people that had to go to Heaven and meet God. And she said that everyone has their own little angel, a gua....gward..."
"Guardian angel."
Anastasia nodded. "Right. And they followed up around, but you didn't see them. And they helped you before the other angels came to take you up to Heaven. And then she told me that when she had to go to Heaven, she didn't want me to be mad at the angels. She was really sad when she said that. But then she smiled and she hugged me and kissed me and told me that I was her angel down here, and that only she could see my wings and my...uh, my..."
"Halo." Tara smiled and smoothed back her daughter's hair with a sigh. "You have such beautiful hair. It does look like angel hair. I think that's what I'm going to call you from now on. Angel. If your Daddy gets to call you princess, I should be able to call you angel." She paused for a moment and then turned serious. "Gamma was right about all of that. There are angels that come down and show people how to get to Heaven. But they also help other things, too. Like cats and dogs and butterflies and even trees. But the only time the angels come is when something or someone is going to die. You know what that means. You're a smart little girl."
She nodded slowly. "Uh huh. Daddy told me all about that. And then he told me that he talks for dead people, and it scared me a little. But it doesn't scare me now," she was quick to reassure her mother.
"Well, honey. Pepper had to go to Heaven. It was his time to go there. So an angel came down and she showed Pepper how to get there, and she stayed with him, so that he could get used to his new home. And it's a really nice home. He gets to run in the biggest backyards, and there's tons of Barbies for him to bury in the dirt, just like he did with yours. And he has this really neat food dish that never goes empty. He can eat whatever he wants! And the angels, they love him just as much as we do. They go out and they play with him, and there's a little girl angel that plays with him all the time, so that he won't forget you, so that lots of time from now, when we go there, he'll be waiting for you. He'll always remember who you are, and he'll be waiting for you."
Anastasia slid off of her mother's lap onto the floor and cocked a hip to one side, crossing her arms defiantly. "But I don't want Pepper in Heaven. I want Pepper here."
"We can't always have what we want, Ana. You know that. It's just like how you want that new bike, but just because you want it, it doesn't mean that you're going to get it."
"I don't want that bike. I never want that bike! I want Pepper. I'd rather have Pepper than a stupid bike. And how do you know all this, anyway?" she said angrily, on the verge of a temper tantrum. Oh, if there was one thing, just one, that she would ever want to change about her daughter, it was that quicksilver temper that she had gotten from Tara.
He stood in the doorway to her bedroom, watching her as she slept. It was the first time since the night before he had sent her away to live in Florida, under a new name with a new family, that he had found himself doing that. Anastasia Grissom and Tara Davidson were both mysteries to him, even though they were the same girl. But there were some things that never changed, he realized.
She still looked the same way when she slept, despite the addition of ten years to her face and body. Her long hair was down and fanned out on the pillow behind her. She had rolled over onto her side and tucked her knees in towards her chest, clutching onto a giant white fluffy stuffed rabbit that she had once dragged everywhere with her when she was a kid. Her nose still wrinkled in her sleep, and whenever the slightest change came to her enviroment, she let out a little impatient moan, burrowing deeper into her pillow than before.
He couldn't believe that the sleeping, peaceful girl in front of him was the same wildcat he had pulled into the hallway earlier that day. She had been crying and screaming and clawing hysterically at her father's hand to let her go, but as soon as the doors were closed, as soon as the man in the orange jumpsuit was away from her field of vision, she just collapsed. She had started to crumple at his feet before he used his free hand to grab ahold of her around the waist. She had moaned deep in her throat and turned in his arms, pressing her face into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. For a moment, Grissom had froze, unsure of what to do with the shaking teenager in his arms. His shaking teenager. But he had quickly snapped into action, taking the arm around her waist and placing it around her back, his hand resting between her shoulderblades, while the other hand lightly stroked the hair that was quickly escaping from its bun. She had seemed to cry harder at his movements, at his attempt to comfort her, but he never stopped until she pulled away.
He had left her tears soaking into his shirt and against his bare skin, cold and wet, as she shuddered against him, shaking her head from side to side. He had bent his head towards her ear and said the first thing that came into his mind. "It's all right, Ana. It's okay. He's gone and you're fine. It's all right, Ana." It was almost like a rhythmic chant that he repeated for a good five minutes. At one point, he had sworn that he heard her whisper something about a monster, but he hadn't been sure. Slowly, ever so slowly, she had begun to calm down, for her sobs to turn into whimpers and sniffles. Her hands, which had balled themselves into the back of his shirt, wrinkling the material to all hell, began to loosen slightly. She had began to loosen her tight hold on him, but at the same time, when he had started to let her go, she burrowed closer against his chest, trying to press her ear against him to hear his heartbeat, just like she used to do when she was a child. And he had brushed the hair away from her damp face, beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable as his daughter turned to him for comfort and he found himself confused as how to give it to her.
She had finally apologized to him in a soft whisper, apologized for breaking down like that and making a fool of herself, and he had told her that it had been all right, and that she should go wash her face since their flight back to Las Vegas left in three hours. She had simply nodded and pulled herself away from him, thanking him, and headed for the bathroom.
She hadn't met his eyes since then.
Instead, they had gotten home and she had quickly gone upstairs to take a shower. The next time he saw her, she was down in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of oversized baggy sweatpants and a short, skintight tank top, pouring herself a glass of water in the kitchen. She had a headache, she told him, before adding that she was sure she was dehydrated from her "ridiculous crying fit". Anastasia had gulped down the glass of water and poured a second one, using it to wash down the two aspirin in her hand, before adding that she was going upstairs to take a nap and not to bother waking her when it was time for dinner, she would get something to eat later that night. After he had eaten and taken his own shower, getting ready to go to work, he had seen the evidence of her quick snack, and when he looked in her room, he saw the almost empty plate that had once held cheese, crackers, and carrot sticks judging by the mess in the kitchen, and the empty glass of milk. By then, she had already crawled back into bed and was asleep again.
For a moment, he debated whether or not to walk into her room, afraid of waking her up, and knowing at the same time that it was a ridiculous reason for not going in there, since he knew from experience that she was a deep sleeper, unable to wake up unless she was forcibly shaken or her alarm clock had gone off. With only the dim light of the hallway partially illuminating her room, he walked in and removed the plate from her vanity, putting the last carrot stick in his mouth, before walking closer to the bed. He put the plate down for a moment and moved slowly, ever so slowly, to pick up the open book that lay beside his daughter, reaching onto the bedside table for a bookmark and then laying it beside her lamp and her water glass. Grissom crouched down on his heels and for one moment, reached out a hand as if to brush an offending piece of hair out of her face, before it stopped in midair, unable to make the whole movement. It wavered for a second, trembled briefly, and then returned to his side.
He stayed there for a moment, watching her breathe lightly, watching the eyes behind the closed lids move rapidly with her dream, before he tried again. This time, his hand managed to touch her soft hair and brush it behind her ear. She let out the same soft, impatient moan at being touched, but then turned her head towards the contact, cradling her head against his hand for a moment, her lips curving into a smile. He fought back one of his own for a moment and then removed his hand, standing up. The smile on her lips turned into a frown for a moment. Without thinking about what he was doing, her father leaned down and gently and softly kissed her on the top of her head. She sighed at the contact and turned to her other side when he moved away. "Under the bed, Daddy," she mumbled in her sleep.
Grissom fought against the chuckle that wanted to force its way out, before straightening and picking up her plate again, taking the empty glass of milk in his hand. As he moved away from her, out of her room, closing the door behind him, he couldn't help but wonder why it was so much easier to show her that he loved her, to show her any affection whatsoever, when she was asleep rather than awake. But then he knew that her dark blue eyes weren't about to turn cold and impersonal whenever he moved towards her, and she wasn't going to snort sarcastically and toss her head away in defiance.
It was only in her sleep that he could give her the kiss that a father would normally give his daughter. And unfortunately, he didn't see that changing any time soon.
Anastasia never awoke when he was in the room. She was too firmly involved with her own dreams. Her dreams, which were acting like a home movie through her head, taking her through different moments of her childhood, both good and bad. It was also the only way that she knew her mother's face. She hated it and she loved it at the same time, for it gave her something to hold onto, some idea of her mother, of what she was like. But she also knew that when she did finally wake up and fight her way out of the dream, she would be left with that same disappointed, depressed feeling as she always was. She was too young to know her mother only in her dreams.
An impatient huff sounded from her and she ground her head deeper into her pillow as it started again, as the memories flipped through her head as rapidly as if she were looking through an actual photo album.
The warmth that had lulled her to sleep shifted slightly, and her eyes opened, almost accusingly, showing only two very small dark blue glittering slits. "No," she mumbled around the thumb that was tucked firmly between her teeth. "Want more," she grumbled, sleepily. She vibrated as the warmth chuckled softly. Almost possessively, she moved closer to it as it tried to move away from her.
Gil raised his eyes and met the equally amused eyes of his wife sitting in the rocking chair near them. It was a familiar routine, one that happened at least once a week. She smiled at him and continued her gentle rocking, a new blanket spread across her lap as she continued to add new stitches to it. "Come on, princess. You know how to use complete sentences. You're four, after all."
The eyes opened briefly again. "Four and a half," she informed him, removing the thumb long enough to yawn loudly, her nose crinkling, before the thumb was put back into place and she snuggled up against him again. "More story, please."
"Hmm. Please isn't going to cut it this time. Bed time." He removed his arm from beside her and watched as she tried to burrow into his side. A smile touched his lips as he wrapped his arms around the little girl, lifting her up to snuggle into his arms. She did so immediately with a pleased look on her face, having gotten what she wanted, not losing contact with her father. She laid her head against his shoulder as he carried her towards her mother and dipped low enough for little Anastasia to crane her neck and purse her lips. Tara smoothed her hair with one hand and kissed the little girl before Gil took her away, up the stairs and down the hall to her own room.
The nightlight in the corner had already been turned on and the bed had already been turned down, as it was after dinner every night, in anticipation of her falling asleep on the couch while her father read to her. He laid her down on the bubblegum pink sheets, and pulled up the matching pink and white striped comforter so she could thrust her feet under it. He laid it over her, tucking it around her shoulders, although he knew that when she awoke in the morning, there was a good chance that most of the blankets and sheets would be on the floor, as well as a pillow or two. She was just as active in her sleep as she was during the day.
Immediately, she raised her arms up in the air towards him. "Hugs," she said impatiently, smiling when he bent down low enough for her to wrap her arms around his neck and feel his kiss on the side of her head. He released her and sat down on the edge of her bed, brushing her light blonde hair out of her face with a single finger. "Y'ready?" she asked, turning her head on the pillow towards him.
He nodded gravely. "I'm ready." Another nighttime tradition that had to take place before she could sleep. Every night that Gil tucked her into bed, rather than her mother, he sat there and listened to her news of the day, whatever it was. Usually, she made up a story for him, but every now and then, she described something that had happened during the day. As a four and a half year old little girl, the true stories usually related to making cookies or losing a particular doll or telling him in detail how she had gotten her latest bruises. It was also how he had, inadvertantly, found out what his birthday present was that year. This night, he was luckier.
"Missus Lady-Bug came back to visit today. She said-" Anastasia broke off to yawn again. "She said that she had something very very important to tell me. And she said that I should tell you and that you should tell Mommy."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why couldn't you tell Mommy?"
"Not s'pposed to. I'm s'possed to tell you, and you're s'possed to tell Mommy."
"Supposed," he told her gently, sounding out each syllable for her.
She shook her head and gave him an impatient look. "That's what I said. S'possed."
Gil hid a smile from her and cleared his throat, bending down closer to her and lowering his voice so it was like they were sharing a secret. He knew how much she loved her little secret sharing with her parents. "Okay, then what am I s'possed to tell Mommy?"
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at how he pronounced the word, almost as if she knew he was playing with her for his own amusement. For a moment, he was taken aback at how bright his daughter could be, but it certainly wasn't the first time and he was sure that it wouldn't be the last time that it happened. "Y'know those really really good chocolate cookies that Mommy and I make? The ones with the snow on top?" He nodded again, not bothering to explain to her once again that it was icing sugar on the top, not snow, but he supposed that little girls should be allowed one or two fantasies. "Missus Lady-Bug said that she really wants some, but if I tell Mommy, then she'll think that I want them. But if you tell her, then she'll think that you want them, and then she'll make some with me, and Missus Lady-Bug can have some, too!"
Forget pronounciation, he thought to himself. Her next lesson was going to be run-on sentences.
The sun was just beginning to rise and filter into the room as Anastasia flipped over abruptly in bed, with so much force that she knocked one of the spare pillows into the night table. It sat there for a moment before sliding down onto the floor. She sighed unhappily and threw one arm out to cover the other side of the bed, turning her face away from the window, wishing to hell that she could wake up and leave the dream, but she also knew that it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
"Mommy?" Anastasia asked quietly, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her head cocked to one side. Tara turned her head towards the five year old and drank in her appearance for a moment. She was, as per the overly warm California weather, dressed in a pair of little jean shorts that had grass stains on the front and along the seat and a grubby looking blue tee shirt that was getting too small for her. Little streaks of dirt covered her deeply tanned legs and arms, her blonde silky ponytail was a complete mess, and the blue jelly sandals on her feet looked as if they had seen better days.
Tara smiled briefly, allowing herself to wonder what her little girl was going to look like when she got older, on a big important day of her life. For a moment, she had a brief flash of a tall, slender girl with that same blonde silk hair, though better maintained and flowing over her shoulders, that same deep tanned skin, wearing a formal dress as she got ready to leave for her prom. And then she sighed, shaking her head to clear the image. It was far too soon to think about how her husband would react when Anastasia would tell them that no one ever came home the same night as their senior prom. She knew that if Gil had his way, she would remain a perfectly behaved little virginal princess until she was forty. "Yes, honey?"
The little girl was known in school and throughout the neighborhood as being a cheerful, bubbly little girl, who was always ready with a smile and a wave for anyone. She bounced, rather than walked or ran, or she skipped down the sidewalk with her hair bouncing behind her. But now, she had an uncharacteristically serious look on her face, almost a frown, and for the briefest of moments, Tara felt...scared. That wasn't her little girl, her father's little princess. She looked decidedly adult in her stance and manner, so much like a miniture female version of Gil. "What's wrong, Mommy?" she asked. Tara shook her head, unable to say anything. She could only look at the little girl who wasn't her little girl. She watched as Anastasia's dark blue eyes swept the kitchen, almost as if she were intentionally setting out to look at the empty dog dish, before looking in the corner of the kitchen where the sun came in the big bay window, the same patch he always curled up in at that time of day.
And in only moment, she turned back into a little girl. Her face crumpled, and one little hand turned into a little fist, grinding at her eyes. "C'mere," Tara said softly, opening her arms. Anastasia was too big to curl up in her mother's lap like she used to, but she crawled into it just the same, laying her head against her breast as she started to cry. "I know, baby. It's hard to lose a friend like that. And Pepper was such a good friend, wasn't he?"
"Where is he?" she wailed. "I want my Pepper!"
Tara closed her eyes and bent her head towards her daughter's. It was true, the grey and black mutt had adopted Anastasia the moment they put the newborn down on the floor to introduce the two. Pepper had been the "practice" baby that the doctor had suggested, but he turned more into a babysitter. She had sat on the floor beside the newborn, her hands and arms ready to pick her up the moment the mutt growled, and Gil had been behind the dog, the much faster of the two, waiting to haul the dog away should something happen. But they had both watched in amusement as the dog had carefully put its snout forward and sniffed the baby cautiously, before sticking out its pink tongue and swiping at the bottom of Anastasia's foot. She had gurgled and blinked at the dog, as it curled up beside her and put its head on her stomach. The two had been inseperable. Tara knew, for example, that when she was out late with friends or visiting the neighbors, Gil was more than willing to let the dog into Anastasia's room to curl up with her until her key unlocked the front door. And she would never forget the time that Anastasia, as a toddler, had gotten too close to a baby pool that they had left in the back yard. Pepper had grabbed her diaper in his teeth and pulled as hard as he could, his little legs scrambling frantically until he pulled her down, causing her to give out a loud wail and alert Tara to what had happened.
She waited until the little girl calmed down before she straightened up and brought Anastasia's head away from her, brushing the hair off of her damp face. "I know that it hurts, Ana, but things like this happen from time to time." The little girl started to shake her head, and Tara nodded to counter her. "Yes, they do. Do you remember when we went to go see Gamma during the summer?"
Anastasia nodded seriously, looking like her father again. Tara fought the urge to wrap her arms around the little girl and let out all the tears she was hiding, that she knew she wouldn't be rid of until she was in bed, curled up beside her husband, and she wouldn't have to worry about the little girl hearing them. "Uh huh. Gamma and I made a cake," she said softly, looking down at her shorts and picking at them with dirty fingers.
"What kind of cake was it again?"
Anastasia smiled briefly. "It was a spice cake. Daddy's favorite. With cream cheese icing. Gamma told me that she used to make it for Daddy whenever he had a birthday, right until he went away to school. And then, when he would come home, she would make one for him."
"Mmm. That's right. And Daddy really liked your cake, too. And I thought it was really nice that Gamma waited for you to come out and see her before she made one, so that she could teach you how. That way, you and I can make one for him whenever we like."
Her head shook enough to make her ponytail swing from side to side. "Nope. Only on his birthday. Gamma made me promise."
She reached for a napkin off the table and held it for Anastasia to blow her nose, twisting it one handed with a practiced gesture and putting it back on the table. "What else do you remember from going to Gamma's?"
"She makes really good gravy. And Gamma can't hear, so her and Daddy taught me the secret language. Gamma showed me how to spell my name with my hands." And with that, she lifted them and her little hands clumsily finger-spelled her name. She finished and brightened up. "And I learned a lot more, too. She gave me twenty dollars when we left."
That threw her for a loop. Tara paused, before smiling wryly. "She did, did she?" she asked, shaking her head. "But do you remember how every Sunday morning, we had to get up early and get dressed up all pretty and go to church? Even though you and I know that your Daddy didn't want to, but we didn't tell Gamma, did we?" Anastasia shook her head, giggling at the idea of keeping such a secret. "And do you remember that conversation that you and Gamma had after the first time?"
"She told me that there were pretty people called angels, and they had big wings like a bird, and they could fly! She said that they lived with God, up in the clouds, and they helped Him do His work. He sent them down here to help people, especially people that had to go to Heaven and meet God. And she said that everyone has their own little angel, a gua....gward..."
"Guardian angel."
Anastasia nodded. "Right. And they followed up around, but you didn't see them. And they helped you before the other angels came to take you up to Heaven. And then she told me that when she had to go to Heaven, she didn't want me to be mad at the angels. She was really sad when she said that. But then she smiled and she hugged me and kissed me and told me that I was her angel down here, and that only she could see my wings and my...uh, my..."
"Halo." Tara smiled and smoothed back her daughter's hair with a sigh. "You have such beautiful hair. It does look like angel hair. I think that's what I'm going to call you from now on. Angel. If your Daddy gets to call you princess, I should be able to call you angel." She paused for a moment and then turned serious. "Gamma was right about all of that. There are angels that come down and show people how to get to Heaven. But they also help other things, too. Like cats and dogs and butterflies and even trees. But the only time the angels come is when something or someone is going to die. You know what that means. You're a smart little girl."
She nodded slowly. "Uh huh. Daddy told me all about that. And then he told me that he talks for dead people, and it scared me a little. But it doesn't scare me now," she was quick to reassure her mother.
"Well, honey. Pepper had to go to Heaven. It was his time to go there. So an angel came down and she showed Pepper how to get there, and she stayed with him, so that he could get used to his new home. And it's a really nice home. He gets to run in the biggest backyards, and there's tons of Barbies for him to bury in the dirt, just like he did with yours. And he has this really neat food dish that never goes empty. He can eat whatever he wants! And the angels, they love him just as much as we do. They go out and they play with him, and there's a little girl angel that plays with him all the time, so that he won't forget you, so that lots of time from now, when we go there, he'll be waiting for you. He'll always remember who you are, and he'll be waiting for you."
Anastasia slid off of her mother's lap onto the floor and cocked a hip to one side, crossing her arms defiantly. "But I don't want Pepper in Heaven. I want Pepper here."
"We can't always have what we want, Ana. You know that. It's just like how you want that new bike, but just because you want it, it doesn't mean that you're going to get it."
"I don't want that bike. I never want that bike! I want Pepper. I'd rather have Pepper than a stupid bike. And how do you know all this, anyway?" she said angrily, on the verge of a temper tantrum. Oh, if there was one thing, just one, that she would ever want to change about her daughter, it was that quicksilver temper that she had gotten from Tara.